Cell

'Polenta!' Beaurain exclaimed when the waiter had gone. 'You'll never get through the huge helping they'll serve.'

'Oh yes, I will. I'm starved again. Probably put on a few pounds but I don't care.'

'What does it matter? You are as slim as a sylph.'

'Thank you, Jules. Now, I've been meaning to ask you. How does that protective paper wrapped round our hand guns work?'

'It was invented by a top chemist friend of mine at Louvain University. It is very special paper – I don't know exactly what it is. He soaks it in some chemical, dries it. It has the effect of rejecting any metal detector's attempt to spot metal. The Americans keep bidding up the price to get it but my friend refuses. He feels there is the risk it might fall into the hands of terrorists.'

'A second question. Who do you think murdered poor Mario?'

'My guess is the Mafia eventually discovered he was playing a double game.'

'I'm not so sure. They wore balaclava helmets but one of them – who stood in the background – had let his helmet slip up to his nose. It exposed a large jet black beard. That could suggest al-Qa'eda?'

'Possibly.' Beaurain paused as breakfast arrived. 'I was not going to mention this,' he went on when they were alone, 'but there was that vicious attack on you when you left the Ivy restaurant in London. I suspect you are the prime target. Maybe because during your investigations you talked to the wrong person. While we are in Italy you must never leave my side.'

'I won't.'

Paula was ladling large scoops of polenta, feeling better as it seeped into her system. In a few minutes she had cleaned her plate, then accepted a second helping. Also the very strong coffee helped. By the end of the meal she felt she was ready for anything.

Beaurain asked the waiter to order a taxi. When asked for their destination he simply replied, 'The Pirelli building.'

'When do you expect us to reach Verona?' Paula asked in a quiet voice.

'By late afternoon. I want to see the meeting place before dark. The express stops at two places before Verona. First Brescia, then a small port on Lake Garda called Descenzano.'

'You expect trouble?'

'I expect trouble all the time we are in Italy.'

'In Verona too?'

'Especially in Verona. I sense our enemy controls a vast organization. I'm beginning to think you are right. Our enemy may well be al-Qa'eda.'

15

The Venezia express emerged from under the giant canopy of Centrale into blazing sunlight. Looking out of the window, Paula saw they were passing a zone of high-rise apartment blocks. Washing strung on lines fluttered on the balconies in a mild breeze. The usual boring exit from a national capital.

'I'm glad to get out of Milan,' she said to Beaurain, who sat beside her. 'It's all enormous stone blocks hemming in the streets – like a vast prison.'

'There are better areas. The gallerias as they call them. Full of very expensive shops and expensive ladies parading through them. We missed that area. Well, at least the train is picking up speed.'

'It goes all the way through to Venice?'

'All the way.'

Their first-class coach was almost empty and soon they were racing through beautiful countryside. Cultivated fields, flat as a billiard table, stretched away forever. Already green shoots were projecting above the water-filled fields. Paula pressed her face to the window, watching women with bare legs tending the crop.

'Rice fields,' Beaurain told her. 'Those women really do work. But we're in the Po Valley, the bread basket – and wine basket – of Italy. The water conies from the river Po.'

A big male passenger in a business suit walked in as the train swung round a bend. He lost his balance, crouched down, bumped into Beaurain as he stood up. He lifted his dark wide-brimmed hat.

'Most apologies. So sorry.'

He walked on, gripping the tops of seats, then sat down several rows ahead of them. Beaurain glanced over the side of his seat. He nudged Paula, cleared his throat, his index finger on his lips when she looked at him. He cleared his throat again.

'We'll get off at Brescia,' he said.

She frowned, wondering what was going on, but kept quiet. He reached down to the side of his seat, got hold of something and jerked it loose, putting it into his pocket. Then he left his seat, strolled slowly up the aisle, stopped by the side of the seated passenger with the wide-brimmed hat. As the express thundered round another bend he seemed to lose his balance. His elbow hammered a hard blow into the jaw of the seated passenger. Such a hard blow the man drooped forward, unconscious.

He strolled back to Paula and sat down beside her. She gazed at him.

'What do you think you're doing?'

He took something from his pocket. When he opened the palm of his hand she saw a small round black device. The top was silver. She shook her head, baffled.

'When he lurched into me and crouched,' Beaurain explained, 'he attached this to the side of my seat. Listening device, with a magnetic base to hold it to the side of my seat. I noticed he had a concealed – almost – wire disappearing into his ear.'

'We can't get away from them,' she commented nervously.

'But now he thinks we're getting off at Brescia. He'll recover long before we get there. When we're coming into Brescia we'll get up, carry our bags, and wait in the exit space. He'll come and join us.'

'What do we do then?'

'It's what I'll do,' Beaurain said with a grim smile.

She looked out of the window. A misty glow was rising from the fields, creating a beautiful luminous glow of rainbow colours. She had never seen anything so hypnotic. This was the real Italy, a place she resolved to visit one day. It settled her nerves as she went on gazing. She would remember this luminous glow all her life.

The man Beaurain had hit with his elbow eventually recovered. Paula thought it significant that when he sat up straight he never once looked back.

As they approached Brescia the view from her window changed. In the distance hills were looming up above the mist. When Beaurain nudged her she picked up her case, followed him to the exit compartment. As they stood close to the automatic doors, which were closed, Wide Brimmed Hat appeared. She caught a glimpse of the right side of his jaw. It was swollen. He had taken a brutal punch. The train slowed, slid into the station, stopped. The doors opened. Steep steps led down to the platform.

Beaurain smiled, waved a hand, gesturing for Wide Brim to go first. The Italian waved his own hand, encouraging them to leave first. Still smiling, Beaurain repeated the same gesture. Wide Brim again waved his hand. Paula thought it was almost comic, then she noticed the useless wire disappearing into the Italian's right ear. Someone on the platform blew a whistle. The doors were about to close. Beaurain put a hand behind the Italian's back, pushed him forward. He tried to get his feet on the steps, failed, fell forward and sprawled on to the platform, face down. The doors closed, the express began moving.

'That can't have done him much good,' Paula remarked as they returned to their seats.

'I wasn't too concerned with his health.'

'You went to the toilet quite some time ago. To get rid of that listening device?'

'Smart lady. Yes. I lifted the lid, placed the device on the seat, crushed it with my foot, shoved the bits into the bowl and flushed the toilet. There will be someone else aboard. No matter.'

An attendant appeared, pushing a trolley. Paula chose a large ham roll, a cardboard cup of coffee. She munched it quickly. Beaurain stared at her.

'Hungry again? After all that polenta?'

'Got to keep up my strength. I don't think Verona will be very peaceful.'

'I'm sure it won't be…'